


unforgivable.

by kaptivated



Series: let's tell a story about running away. [3]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: M/M, Trans Ouma, detailed warnings in notes, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 02:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12855051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaptivated/pseuds/kaptivated
Summary: "Be quiet, Ouma-kun." He's able to breathe now, but his dream is still lingering in his mind. He doesn't feel like talking. If he talks too much, then Ouma will hear the fear in his voice. He'll ask what's wrong, and Saihara will have to lie. Better to say nothing, then. He just wants to enjoy touching Ouma's body right now.Saihara wakes up from a nightmare. Ouma is happy to comfort him, no matter the cost.





	unforgivable.

**Author's Note:**

> my first... actual attempt... at writing smut... please have mercy on me
> 
> takes place after [a heart is not something you can throw away](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12833454), but can be read alone.
> 
> warnings for underage sex, pain play, ouma getting beat up, emetophobia

Saihara jolts awake. He sits up immediately, hyperventilating as his vision fades in and out of focus. With one hand, he holds up his aching head. With the other, he pulls at the sheets, gripping tighter and tighter until his knuckles turn white. He thinks he can still hear his screams, echoing over and over.

Another nightmare, huh?

He closes his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe. Deep breath in. Hold it. Exhale slowly. Repeat.

It takes him quite a few minutes before he finally steadies himself. He wipes the blur out of his vision and glances at the clock. 3 in the morning. He curses under his breath. When was the last time he had a restful night? He can't recall.

Something shifts beside him. He turns around. It's hard to tell in the darkness, but a thin line of moonlight peeks through the curtains, illuminating the figure beneath him. Purple hair, framing a pale face. His chest rises and falls slowly, like waves against a shore. His eyes, usually tense with anxiety and the constant threat of tears, are instead closed gently, his eyelashes curling ever so slightly. His expression looks so peaceful. His lips, slightly parted, look so inviting.

Saihara leans in for a taste. They're not trembling like usual. They're so soft, so pliant. He pushes them open with his tongue, meeting no resistance. He runs his fingers through the boy's purple locks, gently pulling apart the slight tangles. He comes up a moment, just to steady his breathing again, then dives back in for more. About five kisses later, the figure beneath him stirs.

"Nn... What..." Saihara's heart jumps a little, hearing the boy's sleep-laden voice. He pulls his hand out from underneath Saihara and wipes at his eyes. They flutter open, a beautiful, vibrant purple. "Saihara-kun...?"

Saihara kisses one eye shut again. "Be quiet, Ouma-kun." He's able to breathe now, but his dream is still lingering in his mind. He doesn't feel like talking. If he talks too much, then Ouma will hear the fear in his voice. He'll ask what's wrong, and Saihara will have to lie. Better to say nothing, then. He just wants to enjoy touching Ouma's body right now.

He slides a hand under Ouma's shirt. It's cold, he flinches at first, but slowly eases into his touch. Saihara kisses him again, this time letting Ouma into his mouth. Just for fun, he bites at Ouma's tongue. The smaller boy whines a bit at that. Saihara giggles between his teeth. He loves playing with Ouma.

Getting tired of his lips, Saihara targets his ears next. Blows just a bit into his right ear before swirling his tongue inside. Ouma moans softly, clutching at the sleeve of Saihara's shirt. Saihara wishes he'd grab at his skin instead, but doesn't say so. He'd be embarrassed if he told Ouma how much he likes it when Ouma's nails dig into his skin, enough to leave marks the next day. He slips his hand into Ouma's pants, swirling around his clit. Perhaps in surprise at how fast this is going, Ouma inhales sharply, nearly cutting his earlobe as he rips away from Saihara's teeth.

"A-Ah, Saihara-kun, w-what are you-"

Saihara takes his other hand and grips Ouma's jaw hard, sinks his nails deep into his cheeks, and squeezes Ouma's mouth shut. He pulls Ouma's face toward his, his gaze piercing Ouma's like daggers. "I told you to be quiet, didn't I?"

Ouma looks like he's about to cry. He nods.

"Then shut up." Saihara withdraws his hand.

He keeps teasing at Ouma's clit until he can feel his fingers grow sticky, then finally pushes them inside. With his thumb, he continues drawing circles lightly. All the while, Ouma squirms beneath him, biting his lips to keep himself silent. Saihara smiles. His boyfriend is just so obedient, it's adorable. He wants to see how far he can push him. He leans in, lapping slowly at the base of his neck. It's so satisfying how Ouma's breath hitches at that. Still, not a sound escapes him. Saihara bites down, hard.

Ouma's fingers, which had found their way onto Saihara's back, clutch at him in response. Saihara curses the fact that his shirt blocks Ouma from piercing his skin. Tears start to prick at his purple eyes. A tiny squeal slips out from his lips, but Saihara doesn't feel like punishing the boy right now, so he starts pumping his fingers faster instead. Curling inside and pressing at Ouma's favorite spot. Before long, Ouma's shuddering as he arches his back, bites his lip open, and comes onto Saihara.

He's still breathing heavily when Saihara leans down and licks at the blood beading up on his lips. He sucks up every last drop before taking his fingers, glistening in the moonlight, and brings them to Ouma's mouth. Ouma, ever ready to please Saihara, eagerly laps up his own juices. He glances up at Saihara the whole time, puppy eyes begging for his approval. Saihara doesn't give him any satisfaction. He presses his fingers in farther, just to hear the pleasant sound of Ouma trying and failing not to gag.

After getting bored of that, he brings his hand to his own mouth instead. Stares right at Ouma as he slips his tongue between his fingers, eats up the taste that is unmistakably Ouma's. He reaches down to touch himself and slaps Ouma's hand away when he tries to help. He just wants him to watch. He wants him to burn up with frustration because he can't finish Saihara himself, because he has no right to touch him back. He wants to get off as Ouma begs to let him do something, anything. Then he'll punish Ouma for speaking out of turn. It'll be so much fun.

That doesn't happen, though. Instead of being filled with frustration, Ouma's expression is so loving that it makes Saihara sick.

He comes in spurts into his hand and lets Ouma lick it up too. When he's done, Ouma gives him a gentle smile. His face flushed red and his lips glistening, he looks at Saihara like he's an angel.

It annoys him. No, it disgusts him. There's a sickening purple bruise wrapped around Ouma's neck. Bright red marks, still healing, scattered across both his arms. Hadn't he just done that a few hours ago, right before they fell asleep in this mess? How could Ouma have already forgotten? Forgotten the way he begged for Saihara's mercy - _please, please, please let me go_ \- and coughed up half his dinner as he desperately scrambled for air? Forgotten the way he screamed in pain as Saihara held him down and cut twice as deep as he said he would?

Something possesses him to lift up his hand and strike Ouma across the face - _smack_! The sound rings in the empty apartment. For a few seconds, Saihara is satisfied. But Ouma turns back toward him again, that innocent smile still stuck to his face, as if he's saying, "It's okay."

He shouldn't be smiling like that. Ouma doesn't seem to understand how much he should hate the monster sitting in front of him. Saihara will make him understand.

He slaps him again. Again. Again. With the back of his hand, so his knuckles can hammer his skin. Again. Again. It's not enough. It's not working. He clenches his hand into a fist and strikes once more. There's a sickening crack as skin meets skin, but it's still not enough. He pulls his hand back and hits him again. Again. Again. Again. Again.

Ouma's face, beaten to a bloody pulp, is too disfigured for Saihara to tell if he's smiling or not. And so, he ends his rampage. Pulse lowering once more, he reaches for the first-aid kit sitting on his drawer. Wipes away the blood. The skin beneath is a sick, ugly amalgamation of purples, reds, blacks, and blues. He tells himself it's beautiful, a work of art, but he knows it's not.

Shit, did he go too far? Now Ouma won't move. In panic, he starts laying kisses frantically all over the bruises, as if that could magically make them go away, undo what he's done. Why did he even do it in the first place? He had just made love to the boy he had fallen for, he had been so happy, why did he ruin it all? What the fuck was wrong with him?

A weak chuckle rises up beneath him. Ouma, somehow, still tries to curl his lips into a smile. "Thank you, Saihara-kun," he whispers. "For taking care of me." His eyes flutter shut. His chest begins its rhythm once more, rising and falling gently, so gently. Before long, the boy is fast asleep.

Saihara wants to laugh. Saihara wants to cry. What had he ever done to deserve Ouma? To deserve being loved so deeply, so unconditionally? He's a disgusting person. He's known that for a long time now. That's why, as much as he's scared of hurting Ouma, he does it anyway. Because it excites him. Because he likes inflicting pain on others.

Unforgivable. Completely unforgivable. If only he could fall in love like a normal person. If only he could curb his filthy desires and just enjoy being with Ouma. If only he knew how to let himself be loved.

That's just it, isn't it? At some point, he had stopped hurting Ouma because he thought it was fun, and started hurting Ouma because he wanted to be hated. He doesn't know what to do with Ouma's love. He doesn't understand it. He definitely doesn't deserve it. He's just waiting for the day when Ouma will have his revenge and hurt Saihara back. He wants that day to come, more than anything. (But it never will.)

He lies down. He's scared to sleep, to dream. He wants to entwine his fingers with Ouma's, to lean against his shoulder and whisper, "I'm sorry." (But that's not enough.)

Instead, he watches the sun rise. Another day spent alive. Another day too long.

**Author's Note:**

> you know, this relationship would be much better if saihara would just stop being so emo


End file.
